


Son and Daughter

by doorwaybullets



Series: Supersonic (Wo)man [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Brian May - Freeform, Dysphoria, Early 70s, Freddie Mercury - Freeform, Internalized Transphobia, John Deacon - Freeform, Period Typical Transphobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Queen - Freeform, Roger Taylor - Freeform, Trans Female Character, Trans MtF, and he still refers to himself as male, bc it’s written from brian’s pov, domesticity thru the roof, freddie is once again a Good Friend, if ur sensitive to dysphoria/mentions of depression be careful, once again no pronoun changes YET, potentially triggering content, roger is a dick with good intentions, so don’t come after me pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 14:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaybullets/pseuds/doorwaybullets
Summary: Funny how Brian could brush off his friend's jokes, sometimes even laugh along with them, until his conversation with Freddie. Funny how that conversation had simultaneously made his life both easier and harder for him. Easier to come to terms with some things, such as enjoying some womanly aspects. Harder to tolerate jabs unintentionally aimed towards him.





	Son and Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> yes i know it’s been over a month. i have nothing to say for myself. 
> 
> also sorry the italics are made with the /slashes/ lmao i’m very new to this site and i don’t know how to make words italicized. if anyone knows how please share! i am a dumbass who needs help.

Roger and John were curious, and they were shit at hiding it. They hadn't directly asked him about his breakdown at breakfast a few days ago, but Brian caught them gazing at him studiously, and they spoke to him as though talking to a stray animal. Cautious and delicately. Brian hated it.

Freddie, on the other hand, had been nothing short of an angel so far. He didn't poke fun, or ask invasive questions, and was happy to answer any invading questions Brian had himself. They grew even closer to each other with their newfound shared community. 

"We haven't gone out in a while," Freddie mused over dinner. The four of them were sat at the same island where Brian had caused his scene. 

"I suppose not, we've all been busy with mid year finals," Brian reminded. He shoved another bite of his meatless shepherd's pie into his mouth. Freddie did nothing but state at his three bandmates expectantly with pleading brown eyes. 

"Are you suggesting we go out right now?" asked John, though he already knew the answer. 

Freddie grinned, "What a better time than the present? Hurry up, you lot. I know the perfect place to go."

Brian finished up his meal and threw on his long jacket. He wasn't in the mood to dress up that night. Still, he made sure to tie the scarf around his neck before leaving the flat along with the others. 

"So, where are we heading?" John quirked once they were inside a taxi cab. 

Freddie finished giving directions to the driver, "Friend recommended it to me."

A melodramatic sigh escaped Roger's lips, "I'm not going to another one of your gay clubs."

"It's not a /gay club/."

"Another?" asked John. Brian shook his head.

"Oh, sod it! It'll be fun," Freddie concluded with a clap of his hands, which seemed to conclude everything. 

The car ride was kind of long, at least a half an hour, but the night was still fairly young and there was plenty of time for the four of them to make sure they regret their decision to go out come the morning.

The bass line to a song thrummed softly from outside the bar. John nodded his head along to it as the four of them made their way in, locating a table somewhere in the heart. Freddie got up to order the first round of drinks

Across from Brian, Roger let out a low whistle, blue eyes trailing towards the back of a figure in tight white bell bottoms.

"At least Fred chose a bar with decent looking girls this time, remember that pub we went to last month? Place was filled with—"

"Uh, Rog," John interrupted, stifling a laugh, "that's not a girl?"

"What?" 

Sure enough, the figure turned around just in time for Roger to catch a very masculine face in the club lights.

He blushed away from his laughing bandmates, "It's the fuckin' clothes, man, I'm telling you. Can't tell who's who until I get into their pants."

John raised a calculating eyebrow and scanned Roger once over, "You're the last person who has the right to complain about this."

It was true, Roger's small frame and doe eyes often led to him being mistaken for a woman, especially when he was out like he was now. No man would think twice before making a move on him as long as he was shielded beneath the dark lighting. It was one of his features that Brian was always jealous about, even if it was subconsciously.

"At least I'm not trying to dress as a bloody woman! I bet his clothes were from the little girls' section," Roger grumbled. "Besides, you have long hair and tight pants as well, I bet you've been mistaken before." He jutted his thumb out to Deaky. 

Freddie returned to the table. He handed each of them a drink before sitting down in his seat. John didn't even pause his conversation. 

"We all have long hair and tight pants, Roger! By your philosophy, any of us could be female!"

"Not Brian," Roger tried to reason. "He's too tall to be a woman, too lanky. Even if he is dressed the most girlishly of us all tonight, with that scarf and all."

John pondered for a moment, "He's got the waist to be a lady."

The two continued arguing. Freddie nervously tried to catch Brian's eye, but he refused to look anywhere but the cup tightly clenched in his palm. 

"I think Brian would make a lovely woman," Freddie said. Brian's heart sank in his chest. He knew Freddie was only trying to make him feel better, but each word that spilled from his tongue only made him feel even more repulsed with himself. How desperately he both wanted to either look like a woman or feel like a man, and yet he could do neither. How desperately he wanted to laugh everything off like John and Roger were doing. Instead, he was sitting there quietly while Freddie worried about him across the table. It made him feel sick. 

Brian took his beer and chugged half of it before slamming it down onto the table. He wiped away the dregs on his upper lip and stood up aggressively, pushing his way through to the bathroom without explanation.

The tile of the restroom floor was disgustingly sticky underneath Brian's boots. He barely even gave his mind time to dwell on it, opting instead to splash his face with some cold water and sulk near the hand driers. Strands of curly hair stuck to the edge of his face. Brian knew he didn't have long before someone—most likely Freddie—came searching for him, so he embraced every second of newfound peace to collect his thoughts before it was interrupted. 

Funny how Brian could brush off his friend's jokes, sometimes even laugh along /with them/, until his conversation with Freddie. Funny how that conversation had simultaneously made his life both easier and harder for him. Easier to come to terms with some things, such as enjoying /some/ womanly aspects. Harder to tolerate jabs unintentionally aimed towards him.

As predicted, it wasn't long until Roger's face appeared in the crack of the door frame. Brian imagined he must've been quite a sight; hunched over the sink with a drained, damp face and eyes brimming with tears. 

"Brian?" Roger asked. He stepped forward so that he was fully in the bathroom. "Shit." Brian felt a hand test tentatively on his shoulder and shrugged it off aggressively.

"Get away from me. I'm not in the mood."

"Was it something we said? We were just poking fun. You usually don't mind—"

"Well now I fucking mind!" Brian shouted. He turned to face Roger angrily, who cowered into himself. Brian immediately regretted shouting. 

He was about to retort when the door swung open again, revealing a disheveled Freddie, cheeks dusted pink with alcohol and the heat of the bar. 

"Brian," Freddie sighed out. 

Guilt flooded Brian's face in waves, combining with the other emotions seated underneath his head, pressing against all sides of his skull for an escape. It took him a moment to even register that he was clutching the porcelain sink like his life depended on it.

"Roger, could you- uh..." Freddie gestured to the door in a hushed voice. 

"What?" In the mirror, Brian saw Roger swerve around to address him. "I'm not allowed to make sure my friend is alright?"

"I'm not saying that! It's just that—"

"It's just what?! Don't think I haven't noticed you two being oh-so-bloody-secretive with each other! What's been so bad that you can't tell the rest of us?!"

"Roger, please, if you could just—" Freddie was cut off yet again, but this time by Brian. 

"Shut it!" He slammed his palms against the sink, making the soap dispenser rattle. "I'm getting a cab, don't bother following."

And with that, he squared his shoulders left the bathroom, not even bothering to look in satisfaction at the shocked faces behind him. 

—

"You know you'll have to tell them eventually, right?" 

It was a beautiful Friday morning. One that gently rose you from your slumber like a tender lover and eased the aching in your bones. Sunlight seeping in through the windows and finding home in filling the cracks the week had brought upon your weary soul. It was a morning of childhood, back in the days that Brian would wake up early to watch the sunrise and eat sugar cereal from a plastic spoon. A morning of comfort that can only be found nestled under Freddie Mercury's arm, watching morning cartoons as he threatened to succumb to sleep. 

John was attending an early lecture and Roger had been (unhappily) forced to go out and do the groceries for once. It was barely five minutes after he left the flat did Brian find himself curled up with Freddie on the couch. 

"Mm, tell them what?" Brian sleepily murmured deeper into Freddie's shoulder. 

"How you feel," he replied simply. 

"I don't even tell /myself/ that shit."

"Then maybe it's time you do."

Brian sat up a little, albeit unhappy to have to move from such a comfortable position. He pat down a stray piece of hair that was sticking directly out like an antenna. 

"Look, Fred," he started, and then realized he didn't plan anything to say. "I cant. Not now."

"Oh no, of course not now!" Freddie replied gently, rolling his thumb over Brian's shoulder. "But you shouldn't be afraid when the time comes. You know Roger and John won't mind."

"/I/ bloody mind!" Brian threw his head back in frustration. "Do you think I asked to feel so miserable and confused all the time?"

Freddie blinked. "I think you're forgetting who you're talking to."

He felt his next words get lodged in his throat and die, withering like rose petals and dropping as a lump of coal in his stomach. Of course Freddie knew how he felt. Brian had been so caught up in his own self pity to remember that Freddie had gone through all of this and then some. (Of course, the situation wasn't exactly the same, seeing as Freddie probably didn't feel like tearing off his own face  every time he saw his reflection, but they were close enough.)

"I'm sorry," said Brian, voice suddenly small. 

"Don't be. Just try to remember next time." Brian nodded. "Now come on, I like this one." Freddie pointed to the cartoon with one hand and allotted a space for Brian's body with another. 

When Roger returned home half an hour later, he saw the two of them in the same position they started in. Freddie slouched against the back of the couch with Brian sideways, pressed against his chest. 

"Thanks for the help, guys," he muttered, struggling with the great amount of grocery bags dangling from his wrists. 

"It wouldn't be so bad if you just bothered to take two trips," Brian reminded. 

"Two trips is for fucking weak nerds like you. Now both of you get off your lazy arses and help me put these away unless you want me to hide the pastries again."

Freddie was on his feet in seconds, rummaging through the bags Roger had set down on the table and put the pastries away himself.

Brian, however, who couldn't find it in him to care for the sweets, nestled into the worn couch cushions, still warm from Freddie. His long eyelashes slipped shut over his cheeks. Fully lost in the thick drowse of Friday morning. 

—

/"He's got the waist to be a lady."/

It was a simple, irrelevant statement spoken on the night at the bar. So irrelevant that John probably didn't even remember saying it. But Brian did. Like a note stuck to the front of his brain it was all he could ever think about. In the morning when he did a once-over of his body in the bathroom mirror, hands placed at the spot above his hipbone and seeing just how far he could form the illusion of a curve. Each day when he got dressed, where (depending on how he felt about his body at the time) he would either wear tight tops that showed off his waist or baggy tees to cover it. Every moment of his life was now dedicated to trying to accentuate or hide his body, whichever one made him feel better that day. Today it was the latter. Brian walked into the kitchen on a morning much less nicer than Friday sporting pajama pants and the largest shirt he owned. His curly hair was tied up in a messy bun at the nape of his neck. 

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," John's voice was much rougher than usual in the early hours.   
"What's a word for 'giant in astronomy'?"

"Orion," Brian answered quickly. "You should know this."

John scribbled the word into his crossword puzzle, "Not everyone wants to travel to the fuckin' moon like you do."

"I'm studying astrophysics, not training to be an astronaut."

"Yeah, but you'd totally go if you had the chance."

Brian poured himself a cup of tea from the kettle on the stove, "You wouldn't?"

"God, no. Space is terrifying."

"But think of all the things you could discover out there! We've barely even scratched the surface of the galaxy!"

"Exactly. You want to be the one to discover whatever's out there? No thanks, I'll take safety over fame any day."

"You won't be saying that when I'm the one to discover aliens," Brian says, sitting down across from John as Roger makes his appearance in the doorway. /"Oh, Brian, you're so smart and wonderful. Please don't set your alien army on me!"/

"That's a bit unfair to the aliens, don't you think?" asked John behind an English muffin. "To assume they're violent."

Roger yawned loudly from behind him, smacking his lips together and making John jump, "Why does Brian have an army of aliens?"

"'It's part of his evil science agenda," replied John. 

"Ah," Roger reached over and took a sip of John's orange juice, spitting it back into the cup immediately. John made a face. "Blegh, this has pulp in it!"

"If you don't like pulp then you should've gotten your own juice!" He got up to put the now contaminated juice in the sink. Roger slid into his seat quickly, shooting Brian a smile. 

It was in moments like these, where his flatmates were playfully pestering each other while Freddie slept soundly across the hall, warm tea in his hands and his hair off of his face, did Brian find himself almost able to forget about the reason he wore his shirts so loose. Why he avoided his reflection and simultaneously couldn't stop himself from staring. It was the same peace he found tucked under Freddie's arm, happiness radiating from him like the other man's body heat. 

Many people lived for the big picture, but Brian May found delight in the small moments. 

It was a shame that they couldn't last forever. 

The sun rose in the east and made its epic travel across the sky, setting low in the west and taking Brian's rationality with it. It always happened like this, when the four would head off to sleep and leave Brian with nothing to distract his mind. Roger was sleeping soundly across the room, on his stomach with arm tucked under the pillow and his leg pulled to his chest. 

The carpet sank beneath his toes as he paced back and forth, soundlessly as to not wake his friend. Brian's chest was heaving, tears already long fallen down his cheeks. But they weren't out of sadness, no. Brian wasn't /sad/, per se. He felt overwhelmed with fear and dread about who he was slowly accepting that he was. Shame about the fact that he had to feel so unnaturally. Guilt about how disappointed his family would be if they found out. So no, Brian felt a lot of negative emotions, but sad wasn't one of them. 

His eyes fluttered closed where he was pacing, exhaustion sweeping over his body and making him sway. He craved the numbness that came with sleep, but he couldn't lie down. His thoughts were racing too quickly for his body to remain still. 

It was just another bad night, he reminded himself. He'd gotten through them before and he'd get through them again. 

And so, like any musician who's brain had turned against him, Brian sat hunched over his desk and wrote.


End file.
